


My Old Comrades

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breeding, Come Inflation, Consensual Non-Consent, Dominant Masochism, M/M, Mating Rituals, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape Fantasy, References to Drugs, Rough Oral Sex, Sergei is a Size Queen, Shameless Smut, Spitroasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25285396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Sergei has a special relationship with his T-103 Tyrants.
Relationships: Sergei Vladimir/Ivan | Tyrant T-103 Variation
Comments: 23
Kudos: 16





	My Old Comrades

" _Speaking of him... He's odd with those... those things, isn't he_?"

" _Those tyrants?"_

Sergei smirked to himself as the distant conversation tinned down the long corridor of the laboratory, voices of the gossiping researchers fluttering into his eavesdropping ears. He kept his footsteps soft, creeping as he continued closer to it, silencing his own breaths so as to catch a few final second of their conversation before he emerged through the doorframe, into the small, glass-walled research room.

_"Yeah... Don't you find them... strange?"_

_"Glad I'm not the only one who noticed."_

"Dr. Schneider..." Sergei cleared his throat as he entered the room, internally delighting in the jerking jolt of surprise it immediately emitted from the two researchers, heads snapping around at lightening speed to meet where his massive frame was eclipsing the doorframe, "Apologies for the _interruption_. Is it ready yet?"

The skinny, blonde virologist stood quickly, hiccuping slightly as he shuffled through a shelf perched above the computer screens, "Y-yes, Sir! Of course!"

Sergei smiled a fake-smile, hand opening to receive the small, plain bottle rattling with pills. Schneider hastily dropped it in his palm and quickly retracted his arm, as though any further passing moments would cause it to be cut off unceremoniously. " _Spasiba_ , comrade." 

He pocketed the bottle as he turned back towards the hall.

"S-sir... Colonel..." Schneider's voice was peeping meekly.

Sergei stopped, casting a glance over his shoulder, "Yes, comrade?"

"W-hat did you... did you say Lord Spencer needed these for?" He cleared his throat, trying to mask the cracks in his frightened, anxious voice, "They're quite strong... I... I can't advise a dose until I kn--"

"It is none of your business, comrade, and I would recommend silence on the matter." Sergei turned back towards the doorway, waving a hand dismissively behind him as he continued to trudge his path out, "Unless you want to _question_ Lord Spencer's judgement?"

"No, Sir!" Schneider hiccuped, hoping the Colonel had heard him as his silhouette disappeared down the dark corridor, internally cursing himself for his pestilence and wondering -- a lump welling in his throat -- how much of the preceding conversation the Russian may have caught. 

"Fuck." He hissed.

~

Sergei tapped the bottle again his fingers, a few of the small, white pills spilling out onto his open palm with a soft rattle. 

He counted three, pushing the extra two that had rolled out back into the bottle. It was a guess -- perhaps one that was indeed foolish to make, but a gamble never scared him. He'd asked the brains in the laboratory to synthesise a stronger muscle relaxant than what was already available. A custom order he claimed to be for Spencer, the man's pained body always a source of medicinal demands for the laboratory. 

Popping the pills in his mouth, he swallowed them dry while snatching the intricate glass bottle of imported vodka from the vanity's wood surface and uncapping it. A long swig drowned the chalky taste of medicinal residue the pills had left on his tongue and in his throat. As he lowered the bottle, his gaze fell towards the reflection in the oval-shaped mirror he stood before. 

' _What an ugly thing_.' He thought bitterly, raising a finger to scratch along a jagged scar crossing his breast. He watched a trail of pink flush across the flesh, unscarred eye darting around the reflection of his exposed body to note every imperfection with a lip cocked in disgust.

The _creak_ of the antique estate floorboards behind him drew his attention, calling it away from his self-denigration and towards the unmistakable figures looming towards the back of the room, perched above each of his muscular shoulders in the reflection like the metaphorical angel and devil. A smile began to pull at his cheeks, head turning slowly over his shoulder as a contented sigh escaped his lips.

" _Vanya_..." He muttered the diminutive name happily, taking another quick swig of the vodka before replacing the bottle back on the vanity. 

The tiles were cool against his feet as he stepped across them, steadily closing the distance between himself and the dutiful Tyrants, who were standing at the centre of the room, at the foot of the massive, four-poster bed. Dopily, he wrapped his arms around the shoulders of the one nearest, grinning closely to its hollow, expressionless face.

" _Vanya_ , I had a long day." He chided, forehead tilting to meet the cool flesh of the silent clone, a soft purr beginning to emanate from its chest as it took in the sensation, "I am happy only when you are here."

Sergei turned his head towards the other, reaching out with one hand to stroke at the side of its face gently, "You are my only friends, _da_?"

He could feel the muscle relaxant beginning to mingle with the liquor in his blood, a tingling sensation creeping slowly over his skin. Another sigh breathed out. He took a step back and began to unbuckle at the robe-like coat of the Tyrant before him, leather belt slipping free and buttons unfastening with no resistance from the creature. Sergei pushed the fabric over the Ivans shoulders, letting it drop to the floor unceremoniously in a pool of silvery fabric around their feet.

" _Prekrasny_." Sergei mumbled, softly praising the unmarred flesh and strong, flawless muscular contours. " _Otlichno_."

He turned his attention towards the other, similarly undressing it, feeling a familiar, foggy haze come over his head as he took in the sight -- a heat in his groin that began to burn hotter and hotter, flames licking up into his throat. Fingers danced reverently over the faux-flesh in a small, ritualistic worship, each hand occupied with a different chest as he stood before the two, the flames licking at his throat threatening to choke him. 

Sergei felt his breath getting ragged and his head heavy. He cleared his throat, turning towards the bed and approaching a small, wooden side table. The drawer opened with a _scratch_ , and he pulled what was the sole object inside other than the old, _Synodal_ Bible he kept for reasons he never understood nor challenged. 

The amber vial was weighty, constructed of thick glass and metal, plain, white label emblazoned with a faded Umbrella logo.

He lifted it up delicately, gently unscrewing the cap and carefully pulling up the dropper inside. The honey-coloured liquid was viscous and had a faint, bleach-like smell that tickled at the tip of his nose immediately upon being revealed, tendrils of it dripping slowly like thick saliva from the dropper as he lifted it higher, waiting for the excess to sink back into the vial. 

Carefully, Sergei wiped the dropper against his neck, just below his right ear. He repeated the ritual on his left side, skin prickling with goosebumps as the unnaturally cold fluid seeped into his pores. 

He barely had a moment to replace the vial in the drawer before the B.O.W pheromones began to take effect, the Ivans behind him emitting a roiling grumble not unlike a bull huffing loudly. A grin immediately pulled at his scarred lips. 

Turning was a futile exercise. The moment his body went to face the Ivans the two were already grabbing him, strong, aggressive grips on his shoulders and arms a mess of muscular limbs that spotted his vision. He couldn't withhold a laugh, child-like giddiness peppering through his excited mind as he felt his rapidly weakening muscles, incapable of responding to the demanding grabs, be manoeuvred like rag-doll parts. A perfect loss of control.

He toppled backwards onto the bed, a gasping sigh bellowing out of him as he fell. His mind was a fog -- a lusty mess prompting his dopey grin-balled cheeks to numb with the beginnings of a red hot flush. 

The drugs _were_ strong. Lifting his head up to watch the scuffle between his legs was almost a chore, and tired his neck out within seconds, forcing him to drop back onto the mattress lazily. His eyes fluttered shut, body writhing against the sheets as the spots where firm fingers gripped tightly into his thighs began to throb. The Tyrants were silently quibbling over the impending penetration, both desperate for access to the body which beckoned them to breed it.

" _Vanya_..." He murmured, tongue slipping out to lick at his lips, " _Moy rot_."

He opened his mouth slightly, delighting when he felt a set of demanding hands leave his legs.

When he opened his eyes, one of the Tyrants was looming above him, moving to kneel one tremendous leg on the edge of the bed closest to his head. Its long, thick cock practically dragged across his face as the Ivan straddled the bed, pushing it towards the open mouth that was eagerly awaiting its entry. 

Between his legs, the other had already begun to penetrate greedily. The Tyrants had no semblance of understanding of pleasure, pain, foreplay, or human sexuality -- they were animals driven by reproductive demands. Cocks in search of holes to fuck, to plant their seed, to breed. Their aggression was pure, unbridled ecstasy for Sergei, who delighted in the anguish of their use of his body.

A jagged groan escaped him as his unprepared entrance was punctured, belly fluttering as the Ivan between his legs grabbing at his hipbone and thigh hungrily, thrusting until its cock was buried to the hilt. Its neediness had pulled him further away from the other, who angrily snatched a fistful of his hair in frustration at its penetration being briefly delayed by the movement. 

Sergei hissed loudly, forcing his mouth to open as the head of the Ivan's monstrous cock began to push at his lips. The insertion into his mouth was even more forceful than that of conquest of the hole between his legs, throat splayed open painfully as it was stabbed deeply by a needy organ.

Boiling heat began to accumulate in his belly, guts reeling in pain as they were splayed open and hollowed by prodding erections. Sergei could feel his stomach churning in anxious confusion, body defenceless against the rough thrusts that began to wrack it from both sides. Filthy squelching noises filled the room, saliva spilling from the corners of his lips as the Ivan pushed and pulled at his trachea in a desperate fulfilment of its own reproductive demands. Between his legs, the cloned Tyrant was beating into him roughly, cock prodding at his abdominal wall. The two were roiling, inhuman grunts and huffs complimenting the horrific gurgling noises escaping his body, and the filthy sounds of moist flesh-on-flesh.

As the effects of the drugs continued to apex, the pain in Sergei's throat slowly subsided, muscles relaxing further and allowing for easier penetration. The involuntary attempts at resistance melted away, survival instincts and subconscious concerns about pain and the damage he was enduring starving and dying under a layer of lethargic bliss. 

Any physical pleasure he may have been able to derive similarly disappeared, his own cock subdued by the muscle relaxants much like the rest of him. While his body was unable to calculate any satisfaction from its use, his weakened mind delighted excitedly at the constant, masochistic affirmations he spoke to himself through the haze of his lust-laden mind. 

_**This is what you deserve.** _

_**This is what you deserve**_.

_**This is what you deserve.** _

The Ivan between his thighs climaxed first, animalistic grunts of pleasure escaping it as it emptied its litre of hot, creamy seed into Sergei's stomach. The Russian lifted his weak, heavy hand up from the bed, slipping it over his lower belly reverently as he felt a bulge developing through his muscular abdomen from the extreme deposit. Just as he savoured the feeling of the bump, the other Tyrant reached its orgasm, thrusting deep into his throat a final time as it spilled a perverse amount of ejaculate into his already cum-drenched insides. 

Sergei gurgled, the tiny tendrils of oxygen he had been managing to suck in through his nose entirely obscured by seed. The pearlescent, off-white orgasm shot from the corners of his lips and bubbled through his sinuses. The bump beneath his fingers grew slightly, organs entirely saturated by the tingling, warm milk pulsating through him. 

He gasped loudly when the cock was withdrawn from his lips, sputtering up streams of ejaculate that dripped down his cheeks and pooled on the mattress around his head. Pathetic chokes and gurgles escaped him as he tried to combat the feeling of drowning, weakly turning his head to the side in an attempt to let the cum drip out from his throat, pouring from his numb lips.

When the Ivan between his legs pulled out, another meek gasp was drawn from him. Much to his chagrin, little bump in his lower belly began to deflate as orgasm flooded from his ruined hole, intestines gurgling in response to the sudden emptiness. 

He couldn't detect the touch of the Tyrants anymore, instead relishing in the sensations pulsing through his weak body. He relished the feeling of his bruised thighs, his stretched throat, and his numb entrance; the stench of cum, sweat, and synthetic B.O.W pheromones grabbing at his nose abusively as he relaxed into the continued drug-induced lethargy. 

" _Vanya... I-di s-syuda_..." His voice was broken, cracked, barely audible. But the Tyrants responded to the order regardless, their sensitivity to following instruction well-tuned. Both emerged in his foggy line of vision, peering over him inquisitively as if the previous moments had never taken place. 

He weakly tapped the mattress beside him, " _Vot_..."

The two massive forms awkwardly climbed onto the mattress, lying on either side of him stoically, flanking him between their tremendous, cool-fleshed bodies. 

His head, still soaked from the nose-down in cum, rolled to set itself atop the shoulder to his left, right hand snaking down the other Ivan's arm until it was nestled in its palm.

" _Spasiba_ , comrades." He peeped breathily, tongue rolling out to lap at the ejaculate beginning to become tacky and stuck against his lips. A soft, quivering smile pulled at his cheeks as his eyes fluttered shut in utter exhaustion.

"I am only happy... when you are here." It was barely above a whisper, "My old friends."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the Anon reader who has been commenting and prompted this into my head this morning at 5am lmfao <3 you!
> 
> Also, just incase: Vanya is a diminutive of Ivan. Like a nickname!


End file.
